


Fevered

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-01
Updated: 2005-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Buffy gets the flu, it's up to Spike to kiss it and make it all better. Set in a somewhat happier early S6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spike wouldn’t quite say he was _hurt_ as he approached the Summers’ home that cool autumn night. After all, it wasn’t like tonight had meant anything to Buffy. It had just been a comment in passing, really. “Why don’t I stop by at eight to pick you up for patrol?” Perfectly natural and normal for two co-workers. Nope, it wouldn’t mean anything to her at all.

Of course, to _Spike_ , it was a whole different matter. Especially given how she’d been coming to him lately, visiting him at all hours of the day, chatting about meaningless nonsense at times and how painful it was being back here on earth at others. Hell, sometimes she’d just sit herself down on his couch and watch him. He’d even blushed and looked embarrassed the first time he’d caught her at it, and she’d giggled and made some lame comment about vampires with red cheeks. Real friendly-like.

So, really, was it so crazy for a bloke to think that maybe he had a chance after all? That maybe tonight had been a date in more than just his own mind?

And the answer, of course, was yes.

He should’ve learned his lesson by now, known that nothing she said or did with him would ever mean anything more than that she begrudgingly tolerated his presence. It was the most he had any right to hope for, really. But still…

Did she _have_ to stand him up?

Not quite sure whether he was pissed or hurt or just plain stalking her again, he pounded loudly on the front door. He could hear voices from within, some scrambling, something breaking. He frowned, wondering if the household was under attack, until suddenly the door burst open to reveal a very flustered looking Willow.

“Oh good,” she said without preamble, “you’re here.” And yanked him into the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah…” He said, feeling a bit stunned by the whole situation. “I was s’posed to meet the Slayer for—”

“Here.” Willow cut him off, brandishing a wooden spoon. He took a nervous step back, and belatedly she realized that to a vampire, her gesture could look very much like a threat. “No, no, I need you to stir.” She offered him an apologetic little smile, placed the spoon in his hand, and shoved him over to the stove.

“What the bloody—?”

“Willow, we need you up here _now_!” Dawn’s voice shrieked from upstairs.

“Coming!” Willow shouted back. She turned back to him – “Stir,” she repeated firmly – and dashed up the stairs.

Blinking in surprise, Spike turned to the pan on the stove. It appeared to be soup. At least, he _hoped_ it was soup. Because if Willow was making him cook one of her little magical concoctions, he wanted no part of it. And, preferably, to be halfway across the world when the spell blew up in her face, rather than right in front of it.

Curiously, he sniffed the steaming liquid. Soup. Chicken soup. How very…odd.

“Will, we’re going to need to call the cab soon, and—Oh!” Tara started in surprise when she practically crashed in on him on her way through the kitchen, an incredibly foul-smelling garbage bag in one hand. “You’ll be here to help Dawn, then. Good.” With uncharacteristic brusqueness, she brushed past him, heading for the dumpster out back.

Spike scratched his scarred eyebrow absentmindedly and slowly stirred the soup. His somewhat puzzled mind began to try to piece things together and, frankly, he was getting nowhere. Willow and Tara were making soup for a cab. From the smell of that garbage bag, someone had tossed their cookies. And he was supposed to help Dawn. He shook his head and continued to stir. It could be a bit of a game, actually: Just how long _could_ they bustle about away from his questions before he figured out what the fuck was going on?

At that moment, to his amused smirk, Tara reentered the kitchen. Nothing like a nice, contorted distraction to get his mind off his heart’s troubles. “What are you—?” he began.

Tara turned the hot water in the sink all the way up and began scrubbing her hands furiously. “What?” she shouted over the loud running water.

“What’s goin’ on here?” he repeated more loudly.

“I can’t hear you.” Apparently, human ears couldn’t pluck out distant sounds when there was something really loud right near them. He’d known that once.

“I said,” he repeated at the top of his lungs, “ _WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE_?”

Of course, Tara turned off the water right before he started yelling. She winced at the volume. “No need to yell…”

He would’ve laughed, if he hadn’t been so exasperated.

“Did you call the cab, sweetie?” Willow’s voice shouted downstairs.

Tara started. “I’m doing it right now!” she called back. She gave Spike an apologetic smile and gestured for him to wait just a minute.

He got tired of stirring the soup clockwise and switched to counterclockwise.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No, that’s _Revello_ Drive,” Tara corrected the dispatcher, telephone receiver pressed to one ear. “As soon as possible.” Pause. “The airport.” Another pause. “Five to fifteen minutes? Right.” She hung up. “You’ve got five minutes!” she shouted up to Willow.

Rather vibrant cursing followed Tara’s proclamation, and Spike found himself impressed that the little redheaded witch even _knew_ some of those words. It was always the quiet ones…

“Oh, er…right.” Tara turned back him. “Uh…s-sorry about the chaos, b-but…” She blushed and looked anywhere but directly at him.

Spike smirked. He liked Tara, actually, but there was still something very satisfying about the Big Bad still being able to intimidate at least one human.

“Y-You see, Willow and I are headed up to San Francisco for the weekend, t-to the…um…”

“That Wiccan festival you were talkin’ ‘bout last month?” he suggested.

“Right.” She smiled shyly. “And our flight is in less than an hour. And then M-Mister Giles is in England this week procuring orders.”

Spike added a little internal ‘wanker’ at that. It was clear to him, at least, that Buffy’s Watcher was once more planning to run away from all the troubles and responsibilities of the Hellmouth. Coward.

“A-And…” Tara continued, growing flustered.

“Tara, I’m ready!” Willow shouted from the living room. She stuck her head into the kitchen. “The cab’s out front. Hurry!”

“Bye!” Tara gave Spike a little wave and dashed out the door, snatching up the suitcase beside it in the process. “Bye, Dawnie!” she shouted up the stairs.

“Bye!” Dawn shouted back.

Spike watched, somewhat dumbfounded, as Willow yelled out her good-byes in a similar manner, toting a large duffel bag as she fled the house. “Oh,” she paused in the door. “That soup should be done by now,” she informed him. And then she was gone.

Spike looked down at the soup. “Who’s—?” he began to ask, but it was pointless, of course. Only one person left to answer his questions. Fortunately, she at least responded to volume. “ _Dawn_!” he demanded angrily. “Get down here and tell me what the bloody fuck is happenin’ before I rip you limb from limb and use your blood to water the lawn!”

Dawn’s feet stampeded down the stairs, and she came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, thank god,” she sighed. “You’re here.” She frowned. “And: Eww much?”

“Bit,” he repeated with a falsely sweet smile, “what on earth is—?”

Not for the first time that evening, he was cut off. But this time he finally got his answer:

“Disaster.” She gulped, looking terrified. “Buffy,” her voice dropped to a low whimper, so that she practically squeaked out the words, “has the flu…”

* * *

Now, Spike hadn’t realized the gravity of Dawn’s statement when she said it. Yeah, he had dim recollections from his human days about being ill. Mostly what he remembered was his mother’s coughing and the like. Now, _that_ had been serious, nothing like a little bout of flu. And, the way Dawn talked about being sick most of the time, his more recent impressions had been that the modern flu consisted of staying home from school and enjoying yourself in front of the telly.

“You made the soup,” Dawn insisted, handing him the tray. “You give it to her.”

He was about to protest that someone unknown individual had merely passed the soup on to him but shrugged it off. After all, time alone with his Slayer was never to be wasted.

“Hey, Buffy! Hot male nurse coming in!” Dawn shouted up the stairs ahead of him. “But we couldn’t get him to wear the outfit! Sorry!”

“Outfit?” he exclaimed in horror, turning back to look at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him unabashedly.

He scowled in response and stalked past her up the stairs. If the Summers women thought they had him whipped into playing their wet-nurse, they had another thing…

“Spike?”

The voice was quiet, subdued, and uncharacteristically meek.

“Slayer?” Head cocked to one side, he approached the bed. “Christ, you look awful…”

She coughed. “Should’ve known you’d have no bedside manner,” she grumbled sleepily, propping herself up on the pillows. “Is that soup?”

“Uh, yeah.” He handed over the tray. “And orange juice, and… You all right?”

He knew his initial reaction had been a bit too blunt, but he hadn’t been able to hide his surprise. After all, he’d seen this girl through the best and worst of everything. He’d watched her bleeding – but not quite broken. He’d watched her laugh and smile. He’d watched her suffer, still half dead, putting on a brave face for her friends as she pretended everything was all right. He’d seen her happy, sad, vibrant, and depressed. But never had he seen her like this, with that spark that was so uniquely _Buffy_ gone from her eyes. A few germs were all it took to bring down the best warrior he’d ever seen. Hard to wrap his mind around that concept.

“No,” she whimpered slightly.

When he set the tray down in her lap, she set upon the soup with shaky but single-minded vigor. Didn’t even seem to notice he was there. Didn’t take the opening for a quip or two or some nice, old-fashioned sarcasm. He began to panic.

“Is there…? Is there anything I can do?” he ventured hesitantly.

“Mm-mmm,” she shook her head negative as she finished her soup. One last deep swig of her orange juice, and she lay back down.

Hastily, and without any clue what else to do, he picked up the tray. She turned over lazily in bed, wrapped up in the covers, and buried her nose in the pillow.

“Buffy…?” he whispered softly.

“Mmm,” she stirred slightly and blinked. “Oh yeah.” Her voice sounded hoarse and wheezy like she was all stuffed up. “Can you patrol for me tonight?”

“’Course, luv. Is there—?”

“Thanks.”

The even rhythm of her breathing let him know that she was already asleep.

Still carrying the now-empty tray, he went downstairs to find Dawn on the couch, doing her homework. “Oh Bit,” he said anxiously, “I think she’s dyin’ in there.”

Dawn chuckled slightly. “She’s just a little si—”

“She _asked_ me to patrol for her,” he insisted.

Dawn froze, eyes wide. “OK, I’d better check her temperature.” She leapt to her feet and ran for the hall cabinet.

Spike watched her dash about and then clomp back upstairs. Slowly, he followed after her in time to see her yanking the thermometer back out of Buffy’s mouth.

Dawn winced. “102°.”

“That bad?”

“It’s not fun,” Dawn retorted. “But it’s not ‘we have to rush her to the hospital right now’ bad.” She passed him on her way back out into the hall and nabbed a bottle from the medicine cabinet. “Can you get a glass of water from the bathroom?” she called back to him.

He did as she asked, unquestioning. After all, human illness wasn’t exactly his specialty.

“Buffy?” Dawn shook her sister’s shoulder lightly.

“Huh?”

“I need you to take these.” She held out two Tylenols.

Buffy frowned at them, puzzled. “Where’s Spike?”

“He’s right here. He’s about to go on patrol for you.” Dawn placed the pills forcefully into one hand and put the glass of water in her other. “Now, take these.”

Buffy did so. “Hang on.” She turned to Spike. “Give me a minute, and I’ll go with you…” She looked around, although he couldn’t guess for what.

And Spike and Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was all right in the universe as long as Buffy stuck to her stubborn belief that she could do everything by herself all the time, sickness or no. They both mentally downgraded her status from ‘imminent death’ to ‘very sick’.

“You,” Dawn countered sternly, her hands firmly on her hips, “aren’t going anywhere.” She pressed down on Buffy’s shoulders, forcing her back into bed. “Now get some rest.”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Buffy grumbled somewhat sarcastically, closing her eyes once more.

Dawn bit her lower lip in response and headed back downstairs. Spike followed her.

“Sure she didn’t mean to remind you of mum like that,” he half grumbled. Why the hell did he always get caught doing this girly comforting bit, anyway? Oh yeah, because he was the world’s biggest sucker for round, teary Summers’ eyes.

“I know.” Dawn sniffed and washed out the thermometer in the sink before returning it to its place in the closet. “It’s just that mom always took care of us when we were sick, y’know? And now she’s gone and…” Another sniff.

“Oi now. I get enough of that ‘’m not as good as mum’ shit from Buffy. Don’t need you tryin’ to fit into the finest shoes ‘ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, too.”

Dawn smiled softly at that. “Big softie,” she accused lightly, returning to the living room and curling up on the couch.

He snorted and sat himself down on the chair across from her, adjusting his duster and jeans until he was comfortable.

She gave him a look.

“What?” he protested innocently.

“You’re _such_ a freak.” She just shook her head and turned on the TV. Her eyes lit up when she saw her precious ‘Leo’. It was Romeo and Juliet, too.

“You’ll be all right, then?” He quickly got up.

“Coward,” she teased, her eyes smiling once more.

There was no arguing with that. He fled from the house. He figured a good three hours of killing things should be enough to avert the terrifying threat to his masculinity. That, and there was no way in hell he was letting Dawn scare him away in order to stay up late on a school night. He’d learned that trick well enough over the summer, and she was out of her mind if she thought she’d get away with it now…


	2. Chapter 2

“Bed. Now.”

Dawn started, still sniffling. “Have a heart will you? Their love was so pure, but everyone else was such a bastard and…” She made loud honking sounds into a Kleenex.

“A right tragedy. Now, off to bed. You’ve got school, and don’t think I’ve forgotten it.”

Dawn’s tears vanished instantly, and she scowled at him. “You weren’t such a tight-ass when Buffy was—” She cut herself off abruptly.

He glossed over her comment. Best not to think about those dark days. “Yeah, well, had the importance of teenage education re-drummed back in to me. D’you hear her tryin’ to get the cable renewed?” He shuddered.

Dawn couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m not _that_ pathetic…”

He raised one eyebrow pointedly.

With a sigh, she got up. “Right. Off to bed.”

“Dawn?” A voice called from upstairs.

“Or…not!” Dawn announced with sudden glee.

“So,” he retorted. “’ll take care of the Slayer.”

“I bet you will,” she grinned at him knowingly.

“I-I meant…” he flailed hopelessly. Still got him every time when his Bit bit back.

“I know _exactly_ what you meant,” she teased before dashing up the stairs before the pointless growling and improbable death threats began. Honestly, he was just _sooo_ predicable. And hot, too.

Muttering under his breath about teenagers that were getting too big for their britches, he went up to the Slayer’s room. All dark and quiet inside, with that pervading unpleasant scent of sickness. Of course, nothing could ever cover the sweet scent of Buffy. And nothing could stop him from reacting to said scent…

“You called, luv?” he asked softly.

“You’re not Dawn,” she mumbled unnecessarily.

“Yeah, kinda noticed that. Bit just went to bed.”

She sighed. “What time is it?”

Of course, the clock was less than a head’s turn away. He figured she still wasn’t thinking quite straight. He dimly remembered that fever did that to humans. “A bit past eleven.”

“Dawn was supposed to be in bed an hour ago.”

“I know that. Was out killin’ nasties.”

“Mmm…” She murmured in agreement. “Find anything?”

Taking that as some sort of invitation, he closed the door behind himself and sat down in the armchair across from her bed. It still felt strange for him to be here, in her room, with her. Almost like he was a visitor in some private sanctuary. Even when she’d been… _gone_ , he’d felt out of place here. Unwelcome.

Apparently, he wasn’t right now, though. The Slayer must’ve been really out of it…

“Two fledges rising,” he answered her question. “A gang of five down by the Santino crypt. And one V’rak Demon.”

“You all right?” she whispered softly.

Her question threw him. Puffed him right up, too. “’Course, pet. Nothing takes out the Big Bad; you know that.”

She chuckled softly. “That wasn’t what you were saying when that Inkirk Demon bled all over your coat.”

He smiled. “The sarcasm’s back. Looks that those pills Dawn gave you are working.”

Although not _too_ well, since she just murmured her agreement. Well!Buffy would never have let him get away with something like that. Of course, Well!Buffy wouldn’t have asked him into her bedroom while she cuddled up under the covers, now would she? Whole situation was buggered…

“You wanted something, pet?” He figured it was best to get things on track. A sick Slayer didn’t need a moping vampire around.

“I’m bored,” she whimpered.

He blinked. “You called me here for _that_?”

“No, I called _Dawn_ in here for that. You came instead. I’m adapting. Giles used to say I was good at adapting...”

“That you are…” He sighed. “Aren’t you s’posed to be sleepin’, anyway? No time to be bored. Best concentrate on gettin’ better again.”

“I tried to sleep.” Oh, she was definitely pouting now. “I couldn’t. A-And then I was all alone and…” She sniffed. For a second, he thought she was actually crying, but then she made a desperate grab for the Kleenex box, and he realized it was just those germs working on her sinuses.

“So, you want to me…what? Put on a puppet show? Dance around in my skivvies?” he retorted.

She managed a very heartfelt glare through the Kleenex she held against her nose. “Your bedside manner’s not improving,” she informed him coldly.

He grinned. “There’s my girl,” he purred.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “You have a nice voice,” she commented. “All low and grumbly. With the pretty accent. Mmm…”

He blinked at her in disbelief. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d paid him a compliment like that. Actually, he could count on Junior – who was making quite a menace of himself at the moment – the number of times she’d complimented him. Including this one.

“Why not talking?” she protested when he’d sat in stunned silence for some time. “Talking good.”

“What do you want me to say, luv?” Funny, he’d never felt so flustered for something to say in all his unlife as he did now.

“Dunno. Anything. You could read the phonebook and made it sound sexy.”

He grinned. It seemed Sick!Buffy’s more favorable feelings toward him were a bit closer to the surface. “You want me to read you the phone book?”

She managed a lopsided smile, eyes still closed. “Kinda funny. Me sick in bed while my ex-mortal enemy reads me the phone book…”

“It is at that.” He scanned her desk, looking for something to read. Nothing there really except an old issue of Entertainment Weekly. His face twisted in distaste.

“Please?”

Fuck. No way to say no to a sad little plea like that. With a put-upon sigh, he turned to the first page and groaned. “Once upon a time, there was an airheaded li’l skank named J.Lo.” He improvised. It was the only way to survive.

She giggled.

“So there’s some generic non-threatenin’ boy. Named Jason or Mark or Ben or Corey. Real wanker. With that stupid hair that sticks up in front. And J.Lo’s threatenin’ to make him hubby number forty-two like she does, right?” He looked to Buffy for affirmation.

Got himself a snore in response.

And he let out a huge sigh of relief, tossing the magazine aside. “Night, luv.” He took a deep breath and ventured to brush his knuckles against her forehead. ‘Just to check your temperature,’ was the justification he had firmly in mind if she woke up and caught him. And, yeah, she was warm. Not too much though. Maybe a degree or two. Better than she had been, at any rate…

Reluctantly, he backed out of the room, trying not to look at that empty space on the big bed beside her. He was at an almost perpetual loss at times like this, when he got so close, whether he was ecstatic at what he’d been given or in agony over what still eluded him. Yup, she was turning him into a right ponce. Ah well, at least he was in good company…

He shut the door behind him, paused for a moment to check Dawn’s breathing to make sure that she _was_ actually asleep, and slipped out of the house and into the night.

His Nibblet had asked him to keep an eye on things at home tomorrow while she was off to school, and he fully intended to do so. But that invitation didn’t hold for watching the Slayer sleep all night. In fact, from what he’d gathered, it would freak her out to no end. Didn’t want to do that, especially with her being sick. Bloody hell, he was developing a conscience, and it was just _horrible_.

Of course, she seemed to be equally disturbed when he staked out the tree in front of her house. But there was no getting around that one. Hell, like he was going to leave a house with a sick Slayer unprotected for the night.

So, here he was, buggered both ways. And, lighting up his first of many cigarettes, he settled in for the long haul…

* * *

He’d almost half nodded off himself when he heard the sound. At first, he thought it was one of the mating cries of those damn Ornor Demons, but as he listened to the hacking more closely – and, specifically, its location – he realized that it actually _was_ someone losing their lunch.

He’d heard the sound before, of course, when Buffy had gotten herself a wee bit tipsy on their ‘date’ to his poker joint – and just why _were_ all their ‘dates’ in quotation marks, anyway? – and his instinct was the same: Run to help.

A little vampiric speed and grace, a strategically placed branch, and Buffy’s habit of leaving that damn window open _all_ the time, and he was inside. He could hear that Dawn was still asleep, miraculously; that girl could sleep through a jet engine taking off under her pillow. Buffy, on the other hand, was quite awake and miserable.

He found her in the bathroom, kneeling on the cold porcelain, dry heaving into the toilet. Cautiously, he approached, making sure his boots made noise on the floor so he wouldn’t spook her, and he knelt behind her, gathering up her long hair in his hands and holding it back.

She slumped back against him, as if his mere presence relieved her, and for once he was too concerned about her to react to her hot little body pressed against his chest.

Her body shook with a few more dry heaves before she turned back to just shivering, and then finally she stilled against him. Some long-forgotten human instinct caused him to rub small, comforting circles into the small of her back, and he could feel the tension flow from her body at his gentle massage.

After she’d been still for almost a minute, he spoke up in a soft voice. “Better now?”

She nodded raggedly and flushed the toilet. “I don’t think there’s anything left to puke up…”

He hushed her and began stroking her hair gently. For a moment this all reminded him eerily of Dru. He’d gotten plenty of practice caring for a girl over the centuries, but he’d never thought that Buffy would allow him to show her this tenderness.

“Think you can go back to bed now?” he whispered.

“Y-Yeah…” Her voice was shaky. “I just need to brush my teeth, and…”

He helped her stand, and she looked a bit embarrassed by how weak she was. Always so strong before him, and now this. Although her grateful little smile let him know that she didn’t regret that he was there to help her.

He left her in the bathroom and waited out in the hall for her to emerge after she’d cleaned up.

“Dawn?” she asked quietly, allowing him to lead her back to her room.

“Slept through the whole thing.”

“Good.” She yawned. “I don’t want her to catch it, too. Don’t want _anyone_ else to hafta feel this crappy. Ugh. I wouldn’t even wish this on my worst enemy.” She crawled back into bed, moving slowly as if she were afraid that any sudden motions would bring the nausea back.

“Your worst enemy’s quite immune,” he joked lightly.

She managed a little smile. “Where were you?”

“Pardon?” He watched her curl up the blankets and fought the itch in his palms that made him want to tuck her in. Wasn’t he already making enough of a git of himself playing nurse?

“I woke up, and you weren’t there.” Her voice sounded meek, almost scared.

“Oh. I was out in the yard. Usual place.”

“Silly vampire,” she sighed. “I need you here…”

He gulped at her admission, moved closer, welcomed into her sanctuary once more. “Not the impression you’ve given me in the past…” OK, so now was probably the worst time ever to have any sort of relationship talk. But: Hello, demon? Not exactly equipped with tact?

In response, Buffy started crying. Actual bawling her eyes out.

“Oh no, luv,” he hastily backtracked. “We don’t hafta talk about this. Honest.” Yeesh. He’d known she had issues with relationships, but this was bordering on absurd…

“I hate this!” she exclaimed, frustrated, and blew her nose again.

“Yeah, well, Red and Glinda’ll be back on Monday, and then I promise to stay away until you’re good as new,” he offered.

She shook her head. “No, I hate _this_.” She gestured around them. “All this.”

He frowned. Never knew how to react when she went on like this.

“I was in heaven, and it was wonderful and perfect, and no one _ever_ got the flu!” she ranted, still sniffling. “And now I feel like my head’s been packed with styrofoam, and I can’t stop throwing up, and I’m miserable!” A shaky breath. “And I want my mom…” she added so softly that even he could barely hear it.

“Luv…” He felt the need to say something, but words escaped him.

“S-She always knew just what to say to make it all better, a-and her soup always tasted the best even though it came out of the package, and she would just say it was all right and I would believe her because…because it was _her_.” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

He sat on the edge of her bed, leaned in to hold her – and for once without a single inappropriate thought in his mind, just to comfort her. She pushed him away though.

“I’m all snotty,” she protested before he even had a chance to feel hurt, “and gross. And you’re all pretty and perfect.”

He smirked at that assessment.

“And now you’re gonna act like a pig and make some stupid innuendo.” She pouted, jutting out her lower lip.

“Perish the thought,” he joked lightly. And then, because he couldn’t help himself: “’ll wait to make the stupid innuendo until the flu’s gone.”

She giggled and, compromising, reached out to touch his hand.

He held his breath and looked at her, and he could’ve sworn he could hear his heart pounding in his chest…

Her fingers wrapped around his, and she studied his hands. Long, pale fingers. So large and strong and beautiful, just like the rest of him. Slowly, his fingers twinned with hers, and she lay on her side, watching their hands.

“Sometimes,” she confessed softly, “you make me feel the same way she did…”

He snorted. “Great. This some new and more perverse version of the ‘I think of you as a friend’ speech?” Although, really, he should be grateful to get even that much from her…

She ignored him and barreled on. “I mean, nothing will ever be as good as having mom here…” She choked up for a second, and his thumb stroked the pulse-point on her wrist gently. Her hand tightened around his with newfound strength at his touch. “But some things… I always felt like just _me_ around mom. That that was the real Buffy, like I didn’t owe her anything – any kind of act or… I mean I kept things from her, obviously, because: Mom. But…” She coughed. “OK, I suck with words.”

He chuckled. “But you suck so well,” he teased.

“You wish.”

He gulped. Oh yeah. _That_ had given Junior all sorts of lovely ideas.

She yawned, fighting sleep again apparently. “I felt safe and loved with her,” she concluded. “And, when I’m with you, I feel…”

He gave her an intent, querying look.

And she blushed. Actually _blushed_ what with the flu and all. “N-Nothing.” She blew her nose again. “Ugh. Can ‘ou ‘et me ‘ome ‘ore ‘issueth?”

The tissue box _was_ almost empty. And apparently she was using the ‘sick’ card to get out of jail free as often as she could. He went without fuss. Came back to find that she hadn’t moved at all.

“I feel like my head’s about to explode.” She took the Kleeneces from him gratefully.

He sighed wearily. “Yeah…” It seemed not even the flu could keep this girl from running hot and cold. Although she seemed to have developed quite an attachment to his hand… He scootched the chair closer so that he could be comfortable while she played absentmindedly with his fingers. “You’re hot.”

“Hello, inappropriate timing?” she retorted. “And, no, I’m not. I’m all diseased and sweaty and—”

“Meant your temperature, luv,” he chuckled slightly. “Although, if you want me to serenade your beauty…”

“Jerk-ass,” she grumbled.

“Oh luv, you must be sick to give me an openin’ like that one…” he sighed.

Her mood turned gloomy once more at that. “How am I supposed to deal with this all? I-I’m stuck back here, and mom’s still gone, and the mortgage payment is due, and I have no money, and I have the _flu_ on top of everything. And it’s just so hard, and…” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Bugger. There was nothing he wanted more in the world right then to hit upon the solution to all Buffy’s problems, be her knight in shinning armor. But the harsh truth of the matter was that there _weren’t_ any easy solutions, no quick fixes. And that only left one thing to say…

“Sleep.”

“Huh?”

“Sleep,” he repeated. “Don’t know ‘bout the rest of it right now, but you need to kill off this bug, right? And the best way is to just rest up, ‘d bet.”

“B-But—”

“Shh,” he cut her off, stroking her hair lightly with his free hand. “The rest of it doesn’t matter. First thing’s first.”

“A well!Buffy is a depressed, but productive, Buffy…”

“Somethin’ like that.”

She closed her eyes. “Works for me.”

He sighed. Not fair, her being able to get him into tight corners like that but her getting let off easy. Of course, there never was anything fair about being head-over-heels for a woman who didn’t want you back…

“Spike?” She cracked open one eyelid.

“Yeah?”

“This time, can you lay off the self-sacrificing dork act and just stay with me tonight?”

“Sure…” Couldn’t really believe his ears, but hell like he was going to object.

“I want to know that you’re here…”

“Always here.”

If she heard him, she didn’t say a thing. Just went to sleep like he’d advised. Hey, maybe he was working his way through that stubborn streak in her, after all.

And, twisting his chair around so that he could lie against it comfortably and still hold her hand, he settled in for the rest of the long and confusing night…


	3. Chapter 3

“Spike? Spi-i-ike! Wake up, you lazy vampire…”

“Mmf?” Spike groaned in pain. He couldn’t remember what the fuck he’d done to his neck, but it felt like he’d twisted his head all the way around. And then inside out for good measure. With a little whimper he disentangled his limbs from the chair he’d ended up in last night. He groaned again just for good measure and tried to remember where the fuck he was.

“Are you, like, dying or something?” came a curious and entirely too perky question.

He frowned and slowly opened his eyes. Blinked once, twice. Now, that just couldn’t be right. “Slayer?” For a brief moment, he entertained the notion that this was some wonderful dream, except for the pounding pain in his spine. Didn’t even need to pinch himself…

“I would perform CPR except, y’know, I’m all snotty still. That, and you don’t need to breathe.”

“Hmm?” He perked up at that thought and sat up. “What was that about—?”

“Good. You’re up.” She was sitting up in bed, wearing these cute little flannel pajamas with sushi on them, and smiling with that light back in her eyes. Then, for emphasis, she sniffed and gave him a pathetic look. “Can you get me some orange juice?”

He frowned and ran one hand through his hair. Great. His hair had mutated into a mass of poncy curls while he was out. Yesterday, Buffy probably wouldn’t have noticed; today, she seemed more than conscious enough to notice that he was at his worst.

“You’re the one bouncin’ on the bed,” he muttered sullenly. “Get it yourself.” Wincing, he reached around to try to rub the knots out of his neck.

She bit her lower lip. “But I’m sick,” she offered in a quiet, meek voice, suddenly looking ten times sicker than she had a minute ago.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“And, y’know, I need to rest up, or it could come back.”

Still highly suspicious. In fact, he was remembering hearing a little term bandied about among humans: ‘24-hour flu’. But, hey, if Buffy wanted a willing slave, all she’d ever had to do was ask…

“Sure thing, luv.” He unfolded himself from the chair, and he _almost_ imagined, out of the corner of his eye, that he saw her appraising him. Happy hallucination probably, but he still preened and stretched a little just to make sure. Gave her plenty of time to check out that everything was hard and fit and sleek. With a confident little swagger, he left her bedroom. And he was _positive_ he heard her lick her lips just as his sexy ass vanished down the hall.

Well, now. This was certainly an… _interesting_ development.

Not that she hadn’t been plenty hot and bothered by his physique in the past. She’d never admit it, of course, but on more than one occasion during their ‘hated enemies’ phase, she’d smelled of arousal when she held him back against some wall or other, her hand lingering on her chest just a bit longer than was absolutely necessary…

Happy memories.

Humming softly under his breath, he rummaged about in the Summers’ fridge. Dawn had left him a little note with the hospital number in case of emergency and a rather sarcastic comment about how Buffy’s temperature was high enough already and she didn’t need him heating things up more. He growled. His Bit apparently fancied herself quite the comedian. He’d been letting her get away with a bit too much lately, it seemed. About time he got in a few barbs of his own. What was the name of that wanker she’d been flirting with all through summer school again…?

Planning his revenge gleefully, he found the orange juice and glass. Without even thinking about it, he stuck two slices of toast in the toaster. Frowned as he stared at the device…

And shrugged. So, he was making his girl breakfast in bed. This was probably the one chance he’d get while she was all soft and needy, and he was going to take every advantage of it. Including going so far as to call her ‘his girl’ in his head. Ah well, the Scooby lot seemed to thrive on a little self-delusion, so it couldn’t hurt him just to try it out for a day or so. Just until she kicked his ass back out onto the street.

“Are you all right down there?” Buffy’s voice called out.

So she was getting impatient now. If she was still sick, he was the whelp’s bestest bud. He frowned. OK, given the current non-existent state of certain people’s social lives, maybe that wasn’t the greatest analogy…

“Makin’ you toast, pet,” he called back. Always a good sign when yelling was the primary form of communication in a household. Made him feel right at home. Just so long as he didn’t get too comfy, get too used to…

“Ooh! With peanut-butter? And peach jelly?”

He scrunched up his nose in distaste. But if that’s what the Slayer’s horrible taste demanded… “Whatever you want,” he shouted back.

“And can I have yogurt, too? With honey in it?”

He made a face. “You’re shittin’ me, Summers,” he accused.

“Am not!”

He chuckled. She sounded just like his Platelet right then when she forgot that she was trying to be “all mature and stuff.” It wasn’t a side Buffy showed to him often. Or, well, _ever_. The fever might’ve been gone, but the openness that had come with her illness was still there.

 _Slayer shields down to 15%…_

He froze in horror, looked around nervously, and realized with a sigh of relief that he’d only _thought_ that and – even if he had said it out loud – there was no one near enough to hear him. Just to make _extra_ sure, however, he decided to use the ever-handy scapegoat. “Bleedin’ Harris. Corruptin’ me with his wanker-shows…”

Patting himself on the back for a job well done, he took the toast from the toaster – it was all right that half the toast was black and the other half was still cool from the fridge, right? – and plopped it on the much-used-and-abused tray next to her rather unfortunate taste in condiments.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“Bloody bitch,” he grumbled under his breath. He still took the tray up to her, though. Even tossed aside the notion of getting a little revenge. God, he was pathetic…

The way she smiled shyly at him made him feel anything but, though. He’d sort of expected her to take the tray from him, but she just sat there so he had to lean all the way over her lap, catch himself a whiff of the scent of her sweat.

Her nose scrunched up at the state of the toast at first, but she didn’t complain about that. “You couldn’t have put the peanut-butter on yourself?”

He snorted. Like _he_ was the lazy one here! “So very sorry, pet,” he retorted, lip curled. “Need me to peel a few grapes for you while ‘m at it? Got any peas under your bed that need removing? Or, hey, how about—?”

“A word of advice?” She cut him off with a roll of her eyes. “Customer service? _Sooo_ not for you.”

“Seems to me it wasn’t for you, either,” he retorted. Casting an accusing glance at the back-breaker disguised as an armchair, he sat down on the end of her bed. It was a bit of a gamble, yeah, but if she yelled at him, he’d just point out that he’d brought her bloody breakfast in bed.

She didn’t complain. “Oh yeah, that proves that we’re soul mates,” she muttered.

He raised one eyebrow. “Never said that,” he countered.

She turned intently to peanut-buttering her toast. Once she was satisfied with that, she turned to stirring honey into her yogurt. Internally, he berated himself for souring her mood, but she was the one who’d brought up the ‘s’-word, now wasn’t she?

“Mom used to make the best peanut-butter and jelly toast,” she commented absentmindedly, eating her food.

“Yeah, well, no one can compete with that.” He studied his fingernails carefully. Now, see, this was the sort of time when he needed the nail polish so that he’d have something to pick at. With no other choice, he settled for trying to get the dirt out. “’m not your mum, either.”

“No,” she agreed, “you’re not.”

There was a knowing cadence to her voice that made him look her. And he was surprised to find that she was looking at him intently, scrutinizing him almost, as if he were a particularly fascinating specimen she’d never seen before.

“You piss me off and make crappy toast and follow me around a-and say the stupidest thing at _just_ the wrong time, and you’re as far from perfect as you can get,” she suddenly ranted, seemingly out of nowhere.

He tried to hide behind his black leather armor, shield the pain in his heart. But he knew only too well that it all shone through in his eyes. And, for once, she actually seemed to be looking, to be _seeing_. Damn.

“You’ve got all these faults, and they make you so… _real_.” She breathed the word out like a caress, and suddenly it turned an insult into a sort of backhanded compliment. “You’re the most alive person I know, and it makes me want to…” She shrugged.

“Want to…?” Fuck, like he was letting her get away with it this time. Fever gone meant no squirming out of traps she walked herself into.

She shrugged. “Tell you.”

Now, he _knew_ that wasn’t what she’d been about to say. Was about to open his mouth to say so, too…

“B-Because you’re _here_. Still. You’re the one that stays and…” She trailed off again, and this time he let her. It was probably about as close to a declaration of love as he was ever going to get out of her, even if it was more of a declaration of understanding, maybe a little respect and affection thrown in to the mix.

She looked horribly embarrassed, though, and her yogurt had apparently become endlessly fascinating once more. Probably the shock of being nice to him was finally catching up to her. Best to distract her from her troubles. After all, it was what he did.

“You plannin’ on napping after breakfast,” he looked at the clock, “er…lunch?”

She finished off her yogurt. “After being unconscious for pretty much all of yesterday? I think I’ve gotten enough sleep to last me through eternity.”

“Hmm.” He took the tray from her and set it down on her desk before returning to the bed, scootching in just close enough that his body was at the borderline of her comfort zone. “Hafta come up with something to do with ourselves this afternoon then, right, pet?” He put an extra little grumble into his voice, and he could tell it paid off when her pupils dilated and her body’s pheromones began responding to his presence.

“I…”

“Little thing ‘ve picked up over the years,” he purred. Oh, he was getting into this now. She was going to kill him, but it would so be worth it to see the look on her face. “Been practicin’ up my skills for decades now, just in case ‘ve ever got a lady who needs somethin’… _consuming_ …”

“I-I don’t think…”

He leaned in close so that his lips almost brushed her ear. He could feel her warm exhale against his cheek. No fever today. Just pure Buffy Summers fire. He smirked as a little tremor raked through her body at his nearness and dug around in his duster pocket for the object he was looking for.

“Nothin’ wrong with passing a few hours in _pleasurable_ company.” He leaned in closer, and she didn’t pull away. Oh yes, he was distracting her quite nicely… “So,” his voice dropped to a husky whisper, “ladies always deal first.” He dropped the deck of cards into her lap and pulled back, thoroughly chuffed.

She blinked in confusion for a second before she realized he’d led her deliberately astray. “Jack-ass!” she exclaimed, fuming. Somehow, one of her pillows ended up hurled at his head at frightening speed.

“Of course, if you want to romp among the pillows with me instead, ‘m more than happy to oblige.” He caught the pillow up from the floor where it had landed after impacting with his head – right in the nose, as usual – and handed it back to her.

She gave him a look and then started shuffling.

Feeling very self-satisfied and downright giddy that she’d almost let him get away with seducing her, he lay across the end of the bed and watched her, smirk firmly in place.

“What are we playing?” she asked petulantly.

“Whatever you want, baby. I know ‘em all. Decades of experience, remember?” He curled his tongue up under his teeth and leered at her.

With a wicked smile on her face, she placed the deck between them. “Slap-Jack, it is.”

And he gulped. Slayer strength plus that vengeful gleam equaled pain for good old Spikey. But it seemed to be a playful sort of pain, and any game she wanted to play, he’d willingly follow. It was a good life and hell all at once. Especially since she hadn’t cut her nails…

* * *

A soft sigh caused Spike to look up from his game of Solitaire. Subconsciously, he rubbed at the pink flesh on the back of his left hand. Slayer had quite a slap, and (un)luckily for him, her reflexes were pretty much consistently just a split-second behind his. It made for many brutal assaults on the back of his hand with, of course, her full Slayer strength getting into the game on top of everything else.

In fact, he’d almost been relieved when she’d fallen asleep halfway through their third game. He didn’t much fancy crying ‘uncle’ and watching that smug smile cross her face.

Her sleeping face, now that was another matter. He’d rather enjoyed himself these last few hours, lying beside her in bed, only half paying attention to the games of Solitaire before him, and drinking in her every movement with his eyes. Occasionally, she’d murmur in her sleep. Sometimes it was a distressed murmur, and he’d stroke her hair softly and whisper nonsense to her. And sometimes it was a happy murmur, and he’d allow himself the brief delusion that she was dreaming of _him_ the way he’d dreamed of her so often.

But, for the most part, she’d just lain there silently, deep within her sleep, perfectly comfortable having him right there by her side. It was a gesture of trust he didn’t think he’d be able to repay if he lived to be a thousand.

Another sigh escaped her lips, and he watched her eyelashes flutter. So fine and delicate. In fact, so much about this girl looked delicate and feminine, while underneath was a strength even greater than his own. The best of all worlds. Was it any wonder, really, that he was madly in love?

“Mmm…” Her eyes blinked open to meet his. Not even a moment of hesitation, and she smiled. “You let me fall asleep?”

“Need your rest, luv,” he reminded her softly.

She stretched slowly, languidly. “How long?”

“Almost three hours.”

“And you just sat there bored out of your mind all that time?” she asked in disbelief.

Hard to explain to her that watching her sleep had been anything but boring to him. It was also exactly the sort of thing that would freak her out. So he just shrugged it off.

“OK, then. I guess your persistence more than makes up for your total lack of bedside manner. And your cooking skills.” She scrunched up her nose lightly, but she was smiling, turning it into a joke rather than an insult.

“All evens out then, right?” he countered, head cocked to one side as he looked at her. “And you have no idea how _persistent_ I can be…”

She gulped, her cheeks flushing. “I think I’m starting to get an idea,” she admitted softly. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest unnecessarily given that she was still wearing those thick pajamas. “It’s almost two,” she added, seemingly out of the blue.

He blinked at the clock. “Huh? Right…”

“Don’t you watch that dorky show now?”

He shrugged again. “Figure lookin’ out for you is more important. And how did you know what time—?”

“You’re not gonna watch?” she asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

He froze up at that. “You want me to go, just say so,” he retorted, tone bland as he hid behind every emotional shield he had.

She rolled her eyes. “God, are you always this flighty? I meant, I’m sick and in the mood for mind-numbing television.”

It took him a moment to process these facts. Sort of a case of ‘once burnt, four million times shy’. Logically, he arrived at the appropriate conclusion. But something deep inside him still couldn’t believe… “You wanna watch with me?”

“Yes, please,” she announced with a bounce and a cat who ate the canary smile. The smile of a girl who’d just gotten her way. With him. The world must have been ending…

“Uh…sure…” He got beyond his surprise at the situation to the inherent humor therein. “You gonna be strong enough to walk downstairs, or do I have to carry you, too?”

She licked her lips, and that sweet scent of arousal came back to him. Damn. The notion was giving the Slayer ideas, too. But, finally, she just rolled her eyes at him, slipped on her slippers, and headed downstairs.

He followed after. _Like a good little puppy._ And kicked his thoughts while he was at it. He found her curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket, the television already on. He gave her a quizzical look and bit, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“So, like, that’s the really lame guy my mom liked, right?” Only a hint of sadness when she mentioned her mother. Of course, most of it was probably deep inside. “And you’re obsessed with the puppet?” Her nose scrunched up in distaste. “Did I ever mention I have a fear of dummies?”

“A miracle you keep Harris around then,” he grumbled under his breath. He caught her scowling at him and gave her the most innocent look he could manage.

“Play nice,” she retorted. And then, with a sigh, she lay down, pillowing her head on his thigh. “People actually _watch_ this show?” she asked in disbelief at the summary in the ‘previously on’ bit.

His entire body had tensed the instant her cheek touched his thigh, and he was half convinced he was going to rupture something if his muscles didn’t loosen up soon. Bloody good thing he didn’t need to breathe, or he’d have passed out by now.

“You’re comfy,” she commented absentmindedly. Her fingers found a loose thread by the knee of his jeans and began playing with it absentmindedly.

Oh, this was sweet torture, indeed. It felt like his whole leg was on fire. But not the painful, dusty sort of fire. More like there was a fire within her, warming his dead flesh, making him come alive again for the first time in far too long. Certain parts of him were certainly stirring once more.

She asked him some question. Little and inane, he knew, but his mind just seemed unable to wrap itself around the words and decipher their meaning. He grunted in response, and apparently that satisfied her. She snuggled against him a bit more, squirming in his lap, and he bit his lip to stifle a groan. This had to be simultaneously the most satisfying and unsatisfying hour of his entire unlife.

And, hey, he missed the whole episode. Good thing he’d set the VCR back at home…

He realized belatedly that she’d been quiet for quite some time. And somehow his hand had come to rest on her back, rubbing small circles into her spine. “You awake, Slayer?” he asked cautiously.

“Mmm…” she murmured in agreement, shifting in his lap and…

“Bugger.” He tried to pull back in time, but he wasn’t fast enough to keep her cheek from rubbing accidentally against the monster in his pants.

She froze for a second, wide-eyed, before practically leaping back off his lap. “Uh…I…uh…” Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she looked pointedly anywhere but at his lap.

And, with that, his twenty-four hours of bliss ended. The Slayer might tolerate him, might accept – even welcome – his company. Might play games and smile. Might even enjoy a bit of harmless flirting. But, in the end, she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, and that was never going to change.

He rose hastily. “Right. Best be off, then.” He gestured to the television where the end credits were rolling, but they both knew it was the flimsiest excuse in history.

“It’s daylight,” she pointed out, but she still wasn’t looking at him. “Hey!” she exclaimed in protest when he snatched up the blanket that was around her. “That’s mine.”

“’ll try not to catch it on fire,” he retorted gruffly, wrapping it over his head. He found his coat by the door and grabbed that, too.

“I’m still sick.” There was a whimper in that voice that almost stopped him, but Junior wasn’t the only part of his body aching right now.

“Bit’ll be home from school in a few minutes. Be home all weekend, too.” And, with that, he fled into the light.

 _Coward._ One half of his mind was insisting.

 _Realist._ The other countered.

Spike tried to ignore them both as he made the dash for the sewer entrance, tried to see the bright side of all this. After all, alone in his crypt, at least he’d have the privacy to alleviate the tension that had been building horribly after a day surrounded by her presence, her scent, the sound of her heartbeat…

It was a cold comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

“If I was a fire-breathing puss-monster, you’d be dead by now.”   
  
Spike grumbled and flopped onto his back on the couch. “That’s different from bein’ a teenager _how_ again, Bit?”   
  
Dawn scowled down at him. “Fine. See if I ever help you get laid again,” she huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder in supreme annoyance.   
  
He quirked a skeptical eyebrow at her.   
  
“Well, I was _about_ to help you,” she insisted, expression smug now.   
  
“Oh, how’s that?” They said curiosity killed the cat. But, then, they also said daylight killed the vampire, and Spike was overly fond of running about during the day.   
  
“Nothing,” she insisted innocently, arms crossed over her chest, smiling to herself in amusement. “I’m not helping you, remember?”   
  
“C’mon now, Princess,” he soothed.   
  
She rolled her eyes. He had to be _really_ desperate if he started using normal nicknames on her instead of weird, food-related ones. “Just something about Buffy,” she couldn’t help but tease.   
  
His expression fell at that. “Oh. Big Sis told you ‘bout my li’l misadventure, then?”    
  
He looked so very gloomy sitting there on the couch, head drooping forward in misery, lower lip jutted out like a pouting six-year-old. Dawn decided to take pity on him and forgive him. Just this once.   
  
“More like ranting about how you’re a _total_ dork and need to stop hiding your cute little ass and talk to her,” she retorted.   
  
His eyes narrowed at her. “Yeah, right.”  
  
“She’s been, like, spazzing all day,” she informed him confidently. “She totally wants you. She even told me to try to trick you into stopping by the house by saying she was dying from the plague or something.”   
  
“Sounds more like _you_ feel like playin’ matchmaker with me again. I’m not falling for it.”   
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “First of all: Matchmaker? Hello, you practically broadcasted you were in love with Buffy on live TV. Second…” She fluttered her eyelashes at him innocent. “Would I lie to you?”   
  
He smirked at that, before his expression turned sober again. “Look, Morsel, not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but me and Big Sis… ‘S just not meant to be.”   
  
“Uh-huh.” It was physically impossible to sound less convinced.   
  
Spike sighed. “What’s that wanker’s name in your algebra class again?”   
  
“Kyle. And he is _sooo_ not a wanker!” she exclaimed, horrified.   
  
“Know how you turn into a simpering idiot every time he talks to you? And then you beat yourself up for days afterwards?” He grabbed a beer from the stand by the TV.   
  
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a total dork, too,” she brushed his concerns aside. “Trust me, Buffy knows by now. She’s used to it. Besides, you’re hot enough that she doesn’t care.”   
  
“’m not worried about humiliatin’ myself,” he corrected, taking a deep drink. “’s just too painful.” He almost mumbled the last part. Bleeding ridiculous, 120-year-old vampire girl-talking with a human teenager. Like he was trapped in some bad made-for-TV movie.   
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “God, you are such a retard. I can see why Buffy likes you. You two can go off and be, like, retards together.”   
  
“Watch it, Bit,” he growled.   
  
“Or you’ll what? Pour Weetabix in my hair?”   
  
He just sulked. “’ll find _something_ …”   
  
“OK, that’s it. Enough with the moping.” She bounded around to the front of the couch with the energy only a teenager could have and caught him by the wrists, yanking hard. “Up,” she ordered.   
  
He sighed. “Y’know, there was a time when girls like you would run screamin’ in horror just at the sight of me… Good years, those…”   
  
“Oh great. Buffy angst to Ex-Big Bad angst in five seconds flat. Yup, you _definitely_ need to get laid. Too much brooding is no good for—”   
  
“I. Do. _Not_. Brood!”   
  
“Yeah, right. Like I haven’t heard that enough times.” His little explosive fit of temper had gotten him off the couch, though, something even her mightiest tugs had failed at. “Now, go,” she ordered sternly. “Buffy awaits.”   
  
“She has no clue you’re here, does she?” he asked suspiciously.   
  
Dawn just batted her eyelashes at him innocently.   
  
He muttered under his breath and let her lead him out of his crypt. “Damn Summers eyes. Always gotta use those damn eyes…”   
  
She just grinned and pretended she hadn’t heard a word. With any luck in twenty-four hours she’d have a _lot_ less moping on her hands…   


* * *

  
“Well, it was _your_ stupid show in the first place!”  
  
“But _you’re_ the one who wanted to watch! Suggested the whole thing, if I remember right.”  
  
“Only because _you_ were looking at the clock and making little whimpering noises!”  
  
“I bloody well was _not_!”  
  
“Yeah, right. _Sure_ , you weren’t. Who’s the evil, lying vampire of the two of us again?”  
  
“If you wanted me gone, you coulda just told me to bugger off. Not like you haven’t done it enough in the past.”  
  
With that, Spike growled and turned his back on her, headed firmly for Anywhere But Here. Yeah, this little reunion had gone about as well as he’d thought it would. Next time he saw his Bit, he’d have to give her a good talking to. Preferably about some Post-Colonial literary analysis, because any other lecture he gave she promptly ignored; the old textbooks she shrank away from in horrified boredom…  
  
“Spike…” Buffy’s word was barely a whisper, but it was enough to cause him a second’s pause at the door.  
  
“Look, Slayer,” he said with a resigned sigh. “You’ve got your world, and ‘ve got mine. Silly of me to think it’d ever work out differently. So you go back to your mates and have a nice life, and call on me if there’s any trouble you need help with. All right?” Fuck. Stupid chivalrous William instincts always came back to bite him on the ass when he least wanted them to.  
  
“But what if I didn’t want you to?”  
  
Her voice still sounded uncharacteristically soft, almost un-Buffy-like. He wasn’t used to her not yelling at him and ordering him about, he realized. It was enough for him to turn back to look at her.  
  
She bit her lip and looked around the room nervously, refusing to meet his eyes. “Maybe I wanted to watch that stupid show because I wanted to…y’know…” She flapped her hands in a frustrated manner.  
  
He raised one quizzical eyebrow.  
  
“Don’t make me say it,” she finally requested, blushing.  
  
“Kinda hard to get your message across without words,” he pointed out.  
  
She cast a pointed glance in his crotch’s direction. “Yet somehow you manage to do it,” she retorted wryly.  
  
He couldn’t help but wince at that. “Right.”  
  
She took a deep breath. “Look, I suck at this sort of thing, okay? Or, at least I do when I’m not doped up on flu medications…”  
  
“Want me to drug you?” he teased.  
  
She smiled and met his eyes for the first time. “Or I could just chain you up in the basement…”  
  
He was torn between embarrassment and amusement at that. Eventually settled on the latter, since she seemed to think that was a joke between them now. “All you ever had to do was ask, luv,” he couldn’t help but tease her.  
  
Her eyes widened in response before her hand came up to cover her mouth, and she giggled.  
  
He cocked his head to one side in disbelief. Slayers simply didn’t giggle in the presence of vampires. It was a fundamental law of the universe itself. Chaos and disorder were bound to follow. Perhaps even the apocalypse itself. In other words, she better have a damn good reason for laughing. “Buffy?” he asked pointedly.  
  
She shook her head. “Sorry. You’re just so cute when you make innuendoes.”  
  
One scarred eyebrow shot up. “‘Cute’?” he repeated in disbelief…and more than a little indignation.  
  
Her face turned red, but she plowed right through. “You get this…” her hands flailed about as she searched for the right word, “sexy little pose and this hopeful look in your eyes and it’s just…cute.” Her voice dropped almost to whimper at that last word.  
  
He sighed. “Was hopin’ for maybe ‘seductive’.”  
  
She considered that for a moment. “More cute,” she insisted.  
  
He let out a frustrated sigh. “So glad to amuse,” he retorted sarcastically. “Look, I should—”  
  
“Cute is good,” she hastily cut him off. “Cute means that you’re kind of a hopeless dork—”  
  
“Oh, thank you so _very_ much for that!”  
  
“—But you’re fun to be around and kind of adorable,” she continued over his objection.  
  
“‘Adorable’?” he repeated, not quite sure whether or not to be offended. He thought about it for a moment. “OK, ‘adorable’s a step up from ‘cute’…”  
  
“Fun to be around is also good,” she pointed out, looking up at him from under lowered lashes. “That was kind of why I wanted to watch your stupid show with you in the first place…”  
  
He frowned. She’d somehow moved closer to him in the course of their little conversation, and that and her body language seemed to indicate that she was flirting with him. He was usually spot on about noticing these things. With Buffy, though, he seemed doomed to be endlessly second-guessing himself. “Are you… _flirting_ with me?” he finally came straight out and asked it. After all, he’d never been good with subtlety.  
  
Her face turned bright red. “Sort of…”  
  
“Sort of?”  
  
“OK, yes!” she exclaimed, eyes flashing angrily from having to make that admission. “Is there anything so wrong with that? You’re cute and funny and sweet when you want to be, and I know you like me so… Why not?”  
  
He cocked his head to one side and looked her up and down hungrily. “Why not, indeed…”  
  
She gulped as he took one predatory step toward her but held her ground. “I-I just meant that…well, you’ve been here for me when I was still depressed about the whole heaven thing, and then you took care of me when I was sick, and I had just been sort of noticing how helpful you could be when you wanted to before I di…er, _left_. And…oh god, Willow was right; babbling and nervousness are horribly, horribly unmixy things, and—” The words died in her throat when he came to a stop right before her, their mouths less than a foot apart. She looked up at him but couldn’t quite meet his eyes, so she looked at his lower lip instead.  
  
“A bloke might get the impression,” he began carefully, “from the way you’ve been goin’ on that you’re interested.”  
  
“Mmm?” She appeared to be somewhat dazed from her contemplation of his mouth, but then shook her head at looked at him in outraged disbelief. “You’re just figuring this out _now_? What, do I have to beat you over the head with an encyclopedia every time I want to tell you something?”  
  
He grinned, feeling very confident of himself all of a sudden. “Words can be such naughty things, luv. Seems a shame not to use them.” He reached out in an instant and caught her by the waist, pulling her body up against his. Damn, she was soft and warm, and that little gasp she made was music to his ears.  
  
“And sometimes they go on and on when you should be kissing me instead,” she countered huffily.  
  
“Was just tryin’ to set up a nice mood!” he protested.  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” And caught his head in her hands, forcing his lips to meet hers in a brief but passionate kiss.  
  
A purr rumbled through Spike’s chest at the feel of wet Buffy lips against his. The kiss was almost chaste, close-mouthed, but they force they both used, as if desperate to meld their mouths together, was nice and fiery.  
  
Buffy broke away with a gasp after a few moments, her cheeks bright red. “See? If you had just quit talking, I wouldn’t have had to start that, and it would have been nice and romantic and—”  
  
His lips caught her mid-syllable, and this time he didn’t give her the chance to keep it chaste. His tongue hungrily, greedily, explored her mouth, savoring the taste of Buffy like a fine connoisseur. She whimpered against his lips, and then her arms wrapped around him, and she was kissing him back with every bit of fervor in her tiny little body. Her tongue met his tentatively, stroking him cautiously at first and then more bravely until their tongues were wrapped up in an intricate dance, every bit as challenging and fulfilling as the old dance they’d shared back when they’d still been fighting.  
  
“Mmf!” she ordered into his mouth.  
  
“Mmm?” He was reluctant to pull away even for a second but did so nonetheless.  
  
“Couch,” she repeated.  
  
He blinked at her in confusion for a second. “Oh…right…”  
  
Their lips met again, and somehow their entangled limbs managed to find their way back to the sofa. The couch arm hit Spike in the backs of his knees, and he let himself fall back onto the cushions, taking Buffy with him.  
  
“Nice,” she whispered against his cheek contentedly as their bodies pressed together in every way imaginable.  
  
His lips began slowly trailing down her throat, and his body tightened and hardened as she squirmed above him for better position, eventually coming to straddle his waist. He winced inwardly when he realized what she was about to discover, and sure enough as soon as she came into contact with Junior she froze.  
  
Eyes wide in disbelief, she looked down at him. “Er…doesn’t it ever…?” Her face turned beet red.  
  
“Not when you’re around,” he admitted sheepishly. “Vampire thing, yeah?”  
  
“But Angel never—” she began before she realized what she was saying and instantly cut herself off.  
  
He snorted with distaste. “Angel’s a bloody poofter,” he retorted.  
  
She opened her mouth to object, but then thought better of it. He appreciated the gesture because Angel really wasn’t something he wanted to discuss right now. There were few things on earth that could cause Junior to droop into a depressed state, but the notion that his grandsire had had his Slayer before he’d ever gotten the chance was one of them. Maybe after he’d shagged her senseless for a few months straight, they could have the Angel talk. Assuming she would let him shag her at all, that is. She seemed more than a bit concerned by his body’s… _exuberance_ at their little make-out session.  
  
She bit her lip and considered. “OK, then. I can work around it,” and her body lowered itself onto his again, her lips nipping at his jaw line.  
  
He’d always known he’d loved this girl for a reason. If he had any common sense whatsoever, he would’ve just lay back, enjoyed the feel of Buffy’s hot little body wrapping around his in all sorts of delicious, sinful ways and moaned to his heart’s content at the way her lips caressed every inch of his exposed skin that she could find. After all, it wasn’t every day that a vamp found himself being worshipped bodily by the Slayer of his dreams. Unfortunately, Spike had never been overly blessed with common sense. That, and he couldn’t let anything lie.  
  
“Just one question,” he murmured between nuzzles to her throat.  
  
“This had better be important,” she grumbled. Her hands had just found the buttons of his shirt, and she was enjoying popping them open one at time.  
  
He nodded against the curve of her throat. “If you wanted me all this time, then why’d you wig when I—?” He stopped in mid-sentence, pulled back, and frowned. “Did I just say ‘wig’?” he asked himself, horrified.  
  
Buffy ignored the last. “Wig? Who said I wigged?” she demanded.  
  
 _ That _ brought his attention back to the topic at hand. “You most certainly did,” he insisted huffily.  
  
“No, I didn’t. _You’re_ the one who totally freaked out. Vamps don’t run away from me that fast even when I’ve brought out Mister Pointy for the evening…”  
  
“I did _not_ run away!”  
  
“Did so!”  
  
“Did not!”  
  
“Did—Oh _god_ , you’re insufferable!” She tackled him back onto the couch and ravished his lips with newfound passion. “I think I’m – gasp – warped because – oh, god! – ‘insufferable’ should _not_ be a – yes, Spike! – turn-on,” she exclaimed between kisses.  
  
“I win,” he retorted cheekily, grinding himself up between her thighs again in that way that had made her cry out his name so deliciously. Aw, yeah. He could get used to this. And to think that he hadn’t believed Dawn. He figured he’d owe her a free full vamp-on scare tactic for the next twerp that bugged her in school.  
  
“You so do not,” she insisted stubbornly, despite her gasp. “And, like that was my fault, anyway.”  
  
“Mmm? What?”  
  
“The wigging.”  
  
“So you admit that you panicked now?” he asked triumphantly.  
  
She humphed. “It was… _startling_!” she insisted. “I was just lounging around, minding my own business, and then suddenly ‘sproing!’” She made cute little sproinging gestures with her hands.  
  
“Right. ‘S all my fault. ‘Cause who was rubbin’ whose face in whose lap again?”  
  
“Sproinging is not supposed to happen prior to the nice smoochies,” she informed him sternly, continuing to enjoy the aforementioned smoochies as she continued her complaint. “Pre-smoochies, I should be able to enjoy all the lap time I want without being subjected to the latest game of ‘Buffy’s face? Meet humungous Spike bulge!’”  
  
“Humungous?” he repeated, feeling right chuffed. His ego was having a happy, happy day. Junior was rather enjoying himself, too. Hell, all of Spike felt like it was on Cloud Nine right about now…  
  
She brushed and ignored his question. “Bad sproinging,” she insisted and bit her lip as she looked down at him.  
  
“Right,” he finally agreed reluctantly. “Junior’s a naughty, naughty boy. He’ll have to be punished.”  
  
Her eyes lit up mischievously. “Can I do it?” she asked with the most delightfully schoolgirlish faux-innocence he’d even seen.  
  
He frowned. “Thought you objected to…” His words ended with a strained gasp when her hand slipped between their bodies and stroked him slowly through his jeans.  
  
“That was pre-smoochies,” she reminded him. “Post-smoochies sproinging, I approve of.”  
  
“That’s my girl,” he practically purred, sinking back into the couch cushions as she reached into his pants and…  
  
“Oh, jeez! Ew! _Eww!_ Get a room, guys!”  
  
Buffy leapt back in sudden horror at the sound of her sister’s screeches. She barely had enough sense to toss a throw blanket over where she’d just pulled Spike out of his jeans. That was one trauma Dawn definitely didn’t need.  
  
Spike really couldn’t bring himself to do much but lie back in a blissful daze. The world could end right now, and he’d just watch it with an ecstatic smile on his face.  
  
“I think you broke Spike.” Dawn had finally taken her hand off of her face and was looked at his apparently stoned state skeptically.  
  
“Yeah, well, if you’d go over to Janice’s or Claire’s or anyone’s, I could fix him,” Buffy snapped back.  
  
Spike purred. He approved of that idea.  
  
Dawn scrunched her face up in disgust. “Ew, ew, _eww_! Words cannot describe my trauma. You _so_ owe me,” she insisted and stalked into the kitchen.  
  
Buffy sighed and looked down at the happy vampire beneath her.  
  
“Oh,” Dawn’s head popped back into the living room, causing Buffy to start. “I told you so!” She stuck her tongue out at them both and retreated into the kitchen with a smug smile on her face.  
  
“Mmm… She’s got us there,” Spike sighed, stretching languidly beneath Buffy and giving her a good look at his lean, muscled body as he preened before her.  
  
She gulped. “Oh yeah,” she agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Retrospectively, they both owed Dawn a thank you for interrupting them when she did. Because she’d really given them some good advice. Getting a room had definitely been the way to go, since Buffy’s bed was much larger and more comfortable than that old couch.   
  
Spike especially appreciated the fact that they could lie side-by-side like this, their legs twined intimately atop the sheets, leaving their hands free to explore while their lips met for long, languorous kisses. Buffy’s hot little fingers had found their way under his t-shirt and were tracing each and every vertebra as she worked her way up his spine.   
  
He sighed, closed his eyes, and debated the likelihood that this was all just some wonderful dream. Or cruel dream, depending on his point of view. All the more torture once he woke up and realized that he never had this sort of luck. Yeah, he’d probably just passed out on his floor from too much alcohol and—   
  
Soft lips pressed against the pulse point of his throat, and a hot little tongue tasted his skin. He broke into a deep purr at the sensation, his entire body vibrating contentedly.   
  
Right. So maybe this wasn’t a dream. Because nothing on earth could possibly attempt to imitate the pleasure of having his Slayer’s mouth on his neck.   
  
“You like that?” she half asked, half stated.   
  
“Mmm…” he agreed.   
  
“That’s nice, you know,” she murmured softly, snuggling in closer to him and pressing her ear against his chest.   
  
“Mmm?” He seemed to have lost all ability for coherent speech. Of course, that wasn’t exactly unusual around Buffy…   
  
“The purring,” she clarified. Her arm slid around his waist, holding him tighter to her.   
  
He opened one annoyed eye.   
  
“Friendly growling?” she suggested, looking horribly amused.   
  
He could stand to give her a giggle or two if she just kept surrounding him with her heat like that. The eye closed.   
  
“Are you falling asleep on me?” she demanded sternly.   
  
“’S daylight,” he reminded her. “That’s when vampires sleep.”   
  
“Yeah, but I’m feeling…itchy…” she complained.   
  
“You wanna good scratch?” He gave her his patented leer and leaned in to nibble on her earlobe.   
  
She hummed in pleasure. “Yes, please,” she agreed, sounding ridiculously over-eager.   
  
“Then you’d better let me get my beauty sleep,” he countered triumphantly, before rolling onto his back and shutting his eyes once more.   
  
“Hey!” she protested in disbelief upon discovery that she no longer had an armful of sexy vampire at her disposal.   
  
“Best to sleep now,” he clarified, “so ‘ll be rested up for this evening.”   
  
Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at him. “What’s this evening?”   
  
He tisked. “Bit has her shindig over at Wendy’s,” he reminded her. “Which means—”   
  
“…We can do anything we want,” she realized with sudden delight. “House all to ourselves.”   
  
“That’s my girl,” he smiled with closed eyes. And, even though he couldn’t see her, he just _knew_ she was rolling her eyes at him. “Only fair, really.”   
  
“What is?”   
  
He opened his eyes to look into hers. “Waited a whole bloody year for this. Through your death, even.”   
  
She bit her lip and looked down to where her hand was caressing the muscles of his stomach through his t-shirt.   
  
“Trust me, waitin’ until evening is nothing compared to that.” He pulled her down to him apologetically, sighing at the realization of how well their bodies fit together when they lay like this.   
  
“Mmm,” she agreed, “good things are worth waiting for…”   
  
“Plus,” he countered with a cheeky grin, “it’ll give you a few hours to repay me for waitin’ on you so well. Could stand for a little return pamperin’…”   
  
She whapped him on the arm and spooned up behind him. “Get your own damn blood. That stuff is gross.” She scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Besides, I need to be rested up for this evening, too.”   
  
He sighed and let himself be absorbed by the feeling of her soft, warm body wrapped around him. Much as it shamed his Big Bad image, he’d imagined what this would be like from time to time when he was feeling particularly masochistic. The sex dreams had been fun, yes, but the ones that _really_ got to him were the ones where she just touched him, kissed him, held him like he actually meant something. God, she’d turned him pathetic. He might as well act the part of a kept vamp for all the bite he had left…   
  
And it wasn’t like he didn’t get something out of it in return. The actual feel of Slayers arms holding him close was better than any dream he could have imagined. Maybe it finally _was_ time to put the Big Bad notions to rest. In the back of his mind, he kind of had to admit that he wasn’t really all that scary anymore. Well, except to the fledglings he staked nightly. His own kind was starting to tremble in his presence again. It was just that damn lady at the DMV who insisted he needed insurance before they’d return his DeSoto who didn’t. Well, and the entire Scooby lot. Maybe he could live with that…   
  
“Buffy…” he began slowly, never able to keep his big mouth shut once his mind got thinking about something.   
  
“Mmm?” she murmured sleepily against his ear.   
  
“’m seriously considering giving up evil.”   
  
A pause.   
  
Then a giggle.   
  
“I’m bloody serious!” he protested indignantly.   
  
She tried to stifle another giggle, but failed. “Spike…you haven’t really been evil for a while now. You do know that, right?” she informed him cautiously.   
  
“Am so!” Damn, that knee-jerk reaction was _strong_.   
  
Buffy just rolled her eyes and laced her fingers with his, turning him gently so that he was facing her. “You patrol every night,” she began to tick off points on her fingers. “You’ve saved Dawn from at least a dozen demons. And at really creepy guy from her chem class who couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. You’ve helped avert several apocalypses. You made the Slayer chicken soup when she was sick. And, oh yeah, you’re a great babysitter. These are not the acts of an evil being.”   
  
He frowned. “Not so sure I agree with you on the last one, pet. You ever seen those Babysitter Club books around?” He shuddered. “There’s something downright sinister about those things…”   
  
She smiled softly. “Now, I know you’re teasing me,” she concluded.   
  
“You think so?” he said defensively. “Unholy the way the teenage girlies devour those things. ‘s about time we investigated—”   
  
“Ha!” Buffy concluded. “Caught you being not evil!”   
  
He growled with annoyance. “I eat kittens!” he insisted.   
  
“So do dogs,” she shrugged. Before frowning. “At least…I think they do? I mean, why else would they chase cats?”   
  
“No clue, pet.”   
  
Buffy whimpered. “If they don’t…then my cartoons have lied to me!”   
  
“Oh, now you’re just rubbin’ it in! ‘Spike’s not evil, so ‘ll just—’”   
  
“Screw him silly?” she finished hopefully.   
  
He considered that for a moment. “Works fine by me,” he finally conceded. “But that doesn’t make me good.”   
  
“No,” she agreed, “it makes you a deliciously sexy shade of grey…”   
  
Not really much about that a vamp could object to. Except: “Just no more with the puppy dog comparisons, right?”   
  
Buffy jutted out her lower lip in a pout. “But you’ve got such a cute little tail,” she patted his butt, “and you waggle it about so proudly when you’re happy.”   
  
“Hey!” His eyes widened in mortification.   
  
“That, and you’ve got a very nice bone.” Her hand slipped between them to squeeze the bone in question.   
  
He swore in pleasure and forgot his objections. Before remembering. Oh yeah, she was making fun of his lack of evilness. He should probably do something about that. “No fair,” he pouted.   
  
“What?” she said in disbelief. “You think that just because we made with the smoochies that we would stop taunting each other and turn boring and lovey-dovey? ‘Cause no way, mister. Half the fun of being with you is the snark.”   
  
“And the other half seems to be playing with my bone,” he retorted with a smirk.   
  
She scowled at him. “Someone seems to have his bone on the brain. Isn’t that what you’d call a bonehead?”   
  
“Yeah, because someone else seems to have my bone in her hand. Think you’re the one with bone on the brain, luv…”   
  
“Hey!” she protested. “You just called me a bonehead!” She swatted at him, but he caught her head, rolled on top of her to keep her from struggling…   
  
“Since you seem to like my bone so much…” he ground against her.   
  
“Jerk,” she grumbled. “I thought we were supposed to be sleeping, anyway.”   
  
“See? I _am_ evil. Can’t trust me for a minute,” he announced triumphantly, nipping at her throat. “Big Bad Spike’s gonna eat you right up…”   
  
“Yeah, right.” She didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.   
  
“All right, fine. Big Bad Spike’s gonna eat you _out_ ,” he amended, his kisses moving down her chest and heading pointedly towards…   
  
“Stop that!” she squirmed when his nose pushed up her shirt and he began kissing her navel. “W-We’re supposed to…” Unable to stop herself, she let out a sudden giggle.   
  
Spike grinned up at her malevolently. “Don’t tell me the Slayer’s…ticklish?” he teased.   
  
“N-No,” she insisted nervously.   
  
“So then you wouldn’t mind if I…?” She most certainly _did_ mind and squirmed deliciously under him as he tried to catch her foot. He eventually won, though. After all, he was the Big Bad.   
  
She let out little screeching bouts of laughter as he tickled her foot mercilessly. A Slayer in the grip of hysterics was a slippery fish to hold onto, and the two of them became hopelessly tangled in a mass of limbs. Warm flesh wrapped around him in all sorts of strange, impossible ways, and Spike sighed in contentment as he continued to torture the object of his undying affections.   
  
In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Dawn calling them both “total dorks,” but it this was what being a total dork was like, he’d take it over being the Big Bad any day…   
  
As if Dawn could sense one of her insults being invoked, she suddenly decided to shout out at the top of her lungs:   
  
“I have _no clue_ what you two are doing up there! But I’m _sooo_ getting therapy because of it! And you’re paying for it!”   
  
That caused Spike to freeze and Buffy to recover, gasping for air and scowling at him, while managing to look sheepish at the same time. “We were just sleeping!” she shouted back down to Dawn.   
  
“Yeah, right!” Spike swore in that moment that he could actually _hear_ Dawn’s eyes rolling. He hadn’t been aware until that moment that his vampire senses were that finely honed… “‘Sleeping’, sure. How clueless do you think I am?”   
  
There was no real way to answer that.    
  
“Sorry!” Buffy called back down to her.   
  
Dawn’s grumbling could be heard downstairs. Given how sullen she seemed about her brilliant success in matchmaking, Spike wondered why she’d bothered in the first place. Then he remembered that she was a teenager, and sullenness was her natural response to _everything_ , including whatever made her happy. His poor Bit with all her hormones…   
  
Buffy turned to Spike and gave him a very stern look. “Sleeping,” she reminded him.   
  
“Absolutely,” he agreed with faux-gravity.   
  
She lay her head down on the pillow, and he joined her, so that they lay facing each other.   
  
“Not another peep,” she informed him.   
  
“’Course not.”   
  
“And no more hanky-panky.”   
  
“Not while Nibblet’s still in the house,” he agreed.   
  
“Good.” She closed her eyes.   
  
He did as well.   
  
They rest for a moment…and then she slid her hand into his pants and gave Junior a squeeze.   
  
His eyes opened wide with astonishment and desire.   
  
“Sleeping,” she insisted, without even opening her eyes.   
  
“Minx,” he grumbled and lay back down again. It was going to be one sleepless day. However, with Buffy’s hand down his jeans, he really couldn’t bring himself to care…   


* * *

  
“Hey, guys. I’m—Oh my _god_ , I don’t even want to know!”   
  
Spike jolted awake in surprise at the sound of Dawn’s exclamation. And, damn. He’d been having a rather lovely dream about how the Slayer had stuck her tiny hand into his pants and was jerking him off while he slept.   
  
Oh, wait… Buffy really _did_ have her hand stuck down his pants and was jerking him off while he slept. Damn, life was good…   
  
Of course, Dawn had just been traumatized again by that very fact. Spike couldn’t quite remember being a teenager, but it must be extremely difficult given that virtually anything could cause permanent psychological damage. Rough, that.   
  
“Oh, quit complaining,” Buffy grumbled, extricating her face from the pillow and turning her head to look at Dawn. “You’re the one who pointed out the size of Spike’s bulge in the first place.”   
  
Dawn’s face turned a rather interesting shade of red. Spike was rather sure that his face had as well, and he distracted himself by tossing the blanket over his and Buffy’s bodies. Of course, that would leave Dawn to _wonder_ what they were doing underneath, but at least she couldn’t see it. Spike hoped that was an improvement.   
  
There was a moment of anticipation, while they all waited to see whether Dawn would explode or flee. But the she quickly did the later.   
  
“I’mgoingtoWendy’s, bye!” she announced in one breath before dashing from the room.   
  
“Mean, ungrateful big sis,” Spike chided Buffy lightly.   
  
“Little sis needs to learn how to knock first,” Buffy concluded. “So, now that we have the house to ourselves…”   
  
He licked his lips hesitantly, pretty damn sure he didn’t want to say this, but he felt compelled to nonetheless. Just what had she _done_ to him, anyway? He almost longed for the days when he hadn’t cared for much of anything besides his own pleasure. But then, of course, he was still roughly the same. Just now his pleasure equated with this girl’s pleasure as well. And he didn’t think he’d change that for anything in the world. Especially when she smiled at him the way she was now.   
  
“Look, Buffy…” he began slowly, carefully.   
  
She frowned slightly, looking puzzled by his serious mood. “What’s up?” she asked curiously, her fingers running lightly up and down his arm as if fascinated by the muscles there.   
  
“About tonight…”   
  
“Tonight is going to be absolute bliss,” she assured him.   
  
“We don’t…” he sighed. God, this was hard. “I mean, I know you’ve had a hard time of it this last year. What with dying and your mum and the nutcase with the bad perm after sis and soldier boy turning out to be gay and all…”   
  
“Riley wasn’t gay…” Buffy corrected, before shrugging. It wasn’t the sort of point that was worth arguing over. Spike seemed to be firmly entrenched in his own version of reality where he was evil, Riley was gay, and Anya was secretly having a three-way with Willow and Tara. Although, given Anya…   
  
“All that ‘m saying is… I’ve waited a year, luv. No need to placate me tonight, if you’re not ready.”   
  
Buffy froze for a second, looking at him in disbelief. For a moment, it looked as though her eyes were tearing up. She sat up in the bed, moving closer to him, and said…   
  
“Are you out of your mind?”   
  
“Huh?” Spike was rather startled by the abrupt yelling.   
  
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been?” Buffy demanded. “What with all the hell goddesses and deaths and obligations and – as enjoyable as heaven might be – it’s not exactly a good place to get laid.”   
  
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Figured as much.”   
  
“So now that I have a perfectly good boyfriend with a sexy ass and a house all to myself?” she continued. “Why did you think I had my hand down your pants? You are _sooo_ putting out tonight, mister.” She put her hands on her hips in a no-nonsense manner.   
  
He gulped. “Have I ever mentioned you’re gorgeous when you’re domineering?”   
  
She just shook her head. “Pants. Off. Now.”   
  
It wasn’t a request he was reluctant to comply with in the least.


	6. Chapter 6

He tried his best to fight back a groan. But when Buffy’s little pink tongue wet her lips in time with his jeans falling to the floor, there was really no holding it in.   
  
She seemed to realize belatedly what effect she was having on him – besides the obvious, of course – and her eyes went wide for one second before he tackled her onto the bed. She certainly didn’t _mind_ his sudden attentions, of course. He could feel her nipples harden through the thin cotton of her blouse where her chest pressed against his bare flesh. And her hands were having quite a bit of fun, skimming along his sides and under his unbuttoned shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders…   
  
“No fair that ‘m naked and you’re skill fully clothed,” he rasped against her cheek before pulling back to toss his shirt aside. It landed haphazardly over the back of her desk chair.   
  
“Undress me, then,” she requested softly, sitting up so that their faces were inches apart.   
  
He gulped. “You have any idea how long ‘ve waited to hear you say that?”   
  
Her fingers traced the razor-line of his left cheekbone. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea…”   
  
His kissed her, then, clutching her body to him as he plundered her lips. She let out a gasp at his intensity, and his tongue took every advantage, entering her, thrusting hard and deep. Her fingers caught in his hair, both pulling him closer and holding herself up. He molded her tighter against his chest, drew his teeth over her full bottom lip, and captured her taste with his tongue.   
  
After about a minute, she pushed him away, gasping desperately for breath. “Oh my god,” she practically whispered, as if she were just now realizing the full extent of his passion for her.   
  
“Buffy,” he murmured, and his voice sounded drunk and husky even to his own ears.    
  
Almost of its own accord, his hand reached out and caressed her side, slowly pushing up her blouse. Her arms came up instinctively at first, and he paused, looking to her for confirmation. Slowly, she relaxed and then urged him on with a slight nod of her head.   
  
He pulled her top over her head and felt himself harden further at the sight of her. She wasn’t wearing a bra.   
  
“Beautiful,” he whispered against her flesh before leaning in to taste it.   
  
Her hands came around his back, stroking him gently, and she let herself fall back onto the mattress with him on top of her. It was a place he very much liked to be. His tongue swirled around her left nipple, toying with the hardened bud, before he leaned in closer and took her entire breast into his mouth, sucking softly.   
  
She made the sweetest little whimper he’d ever heard and held him tighter to her. Her thighs spread around his hips, offering him a more comfortable place between them, and he settled in happily, the tip of his erection rubbing against the cotton over her inner thigh.   
  
Giving her nipple one final kiss, he pulled back and felt her arms try to hold him in place.   
  
“Please, don’t stop…” she begged him softly.   
  
“Just changin’ venues,” he assured her, settling over her right breast this time and repeating his actions.   
  
Her bare feet found the backs of his calves in response, and he could feel her toes curl against him, massaging the muscles, stroking against him in a way more erotic than he could ever have imagined.   
  
“So beautiful,” he breathed against the warm flesh he’d just worshipped.   
  
“Mmm, you too,” she sighed, pulling him up for a short, almost chaste kiss. “My turn?” she asked innocently.   
  
He certainly wasn’t about to protest. It seemed he’d fail to turn those sweet Slayer muscles to complete goo, because she had the strength to easily push him over onto his back and fell atop him hungrily. Her lips started at his collarbone, tracing the sharp line downward to his solar plexus, then radiating out randomly, placing scattered kisses across the expanse of his chest, until she zeroed in on one nipple and licked it, oh, so slowly.   
  
“Slayer,” he gasped.   
  
“So romantic,” Buffy said sarcastically as her lips continued to move downward.   
  
“Buffy,” he amended, the fingers of one hand coming up to tangle themselves loosely in her hair. His left hand lay thoroughly useless on the pillow beside his head, the muscles so relaxed he could barely even think of using them.   
  
“Mmm…” She was at his hip now, and her tongue created a delicate little path down the sharp line of one hipbone.   
  
It was all he could do not to thrust his hips clear off the bed.   
  
“You like that?” she questioned softly, resting her cheek in the indentation beneath his hip.   
  
“Fuck yeah,” he all but whispered.   
  
“Bet you’ll like this even better,” she teased. And, still lying against his hip, she reached one hand out to trace the underside of his erection.   
  
“Bet you’re right,” he agreed huskily. He looked down to see her studying Junior with lazy lust in her eyes. For a moment, she looked up and their eyes met, but then she returned her attention to his cock.   
  
“I’ve never seen one bent like this.” She blushed slightly at the admission, and her thumb came to rest lightly on the bend halfway up his length. “Has it always…?” Now she definitely _was_ blushing at her curiosity.   
  
“Pretty much,” he agreed. “Means Junior can do all sorts of naughty things, get into all sorts of naughty _places_ …” He leered at her.   
  
Her eyes widened at the thought, and her body flushed further with excitement. She gave him a very naughty look in return and brushed her lips softly against the head of his erection. “Is that true, _Junior_?” she teased. “Have you been a naughty boy?”    
  
Her breath blew across the sensitive skin of his dick, and he groaned in appreciation.   
  
“Very naughty,” she concluded. “Well, I think I like you anyway.”   
  
His eyes opened wide at her words – and the not-so-subtle implications directed at him – but then her lips wrapped slowly, languorously around his head, and he fell back onto the mattress, helpless against her sensual assault. He hissed as her lips slipped over him, taking all that she could inside. Despite how damn bossy she could be, she still had a little mouth, but her hands made it up to him, caressing each inch of him she couldn’t swallow.   
  
A deep, blissful purr rumbled through his chest as she pulled back and her tongue began tracing every vein she could find. Warm little fingers cradled and massaged his balls until he felt like he would explode, and he began gasping out random inanities.   
  
“Oh god, Buffy…”   
  
She pressed her lips against the very tip of him, her pink tongue flicking out to caress the slit.   
  
“ _Fuck_!”   
  
“Mmm…” she hummed around him in approval, and that was the final straw.   
  
“Buffy…wait…I’m…”   
  
She brushed aside his protests, and he came in her hot mouth with an ecstatic cry. Indescribable pleasure rippled through his body, leaving him limp and satiated. For a few moments, he wasn’t able to process where he was except that wherever it was, it was soft and warm and wonderful.   
  
“Wow.”   
  
Slowly, he became aware of the nude female body beside him. He remembered that she’d still been half-clothed only minutes before and concluded she must have fully undressed while he’d been out.   
  
“That’s my girl,” he murmured blissfully as he curled his body onto its side to press himself against her.   
  
“Do you have idea how…?”   
  
“Mmm?”   
  
“Amazing you are?” she whispered carefully, stroking his forehead and brushing back one persistently annoying curl that had fallen too far forward.   
  
“Me?” he chuckled in disbelief.   
  
“You,” she insisted, running her fingers along the line of his hip. “When you come, you…” She sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that open before, that exposed…” Her fingers trailed down his chest lazily. “I’m sorry I can’t be like that for you, too,” she whispered so softly he could barely pick it up.   
  
“Haven’t even given me a chance to try,” he retorted cockily, recovering enough strength to hold her close and brush kisses across her forehead.   
  
She sighed and brought her hand up to trace the lines of his forehead in return. “You vamped out at the final moment,” she informed him, drawing the pattern of currently invisible brow ridges.   
  
“Er…sorry ‘bout that,” he offered sheepishly.   
  
“Don’t be,” she teased. “Even your demon was beautiful when it came…”   
  
“’ve got a feeling the Slayer will be even more beautiful…”   
  
“Spike, what’re you—Eep!” She squeaked when he suddenly pounced atop her, rolling her onto her back. “Bad vampire, bad!” she laughed. “Bad vampi—Ooh! _Good_ vampire! Oh, so good… Yes, Spike! More!”   
  
The abrupt change in her cries had occurred in perfect time with his mouth’s discovery of her clit. Her hands tangled in his hair, mussing it horribly, and she urged him on. Her thighs threatened to close around his head, and he pushed them gently back open again, giving his mouth full access to her once more.   
  
She was already highly aroused, and after the first few licks to her clit, he gave her a few moments to relax from the intensity as he explored her folds instead. She was so very wet, and when the flavor of her hit his tongue, he moaned in satisfaction. He’d tasted Slayer blood before, but it had _nothing_ on this.   
  
Her folds parted easily for his tongue, letting him inside. A soft whimper escaped her throat when he entered her, and he pulled back once more, letting her calm down.   
  
“You like torturing me, don’t you?” she accused, breathing heavily.   
  
“Repayment,” he retorted with a grin before kissing her clit gently once more.   
  
His fingers entered her this time. One and two slid inside easily. Three was tight at first, and she hissed, but then he was inside, and she was bucking against him.   
  
Continuing to pleasure her with his fingers, he crawled up her body slowly, taking his time to explore her as his went. The flat of her stomach, the gentle curves of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples… He sensed her tense as his tongue swirled around her right nipple and, with a flick of his thumb against her clit, made her come with an ecstatic scream.   
  
And she had thought she wouldn’t be able to open up to him…   
  
“Oh god, Spike,” she whimpered, holding him close and burying her head in his shoulder. “How did you…”   
  
“Never underestimate a horny vampire,” he teased, kissing the column of her throat. “Especially yours truly.”   
  
She kissed him softly at that, slid her leg over his thigh seductively. “Make love to me?”   
  
It wasn’t a request she had to make twice.   
  
He hand moved between them, and they both tensed as he guided his head inside her. Her folds parted just enough to allow his head in, and they held like that for a moment, before Spike rolled his hips slowly and pushed gently inside her.   
  
Her hands caught at his shoulders, nails digging in, as he thrust deep once more and was finally filling her thoroughly. Almost as if that effort itself were too intense to bear, they paused, foreheads pressed together intimately as they got used to the feel of each other for the first time.   
  
“You good, luv?” he finally whispered, his lips grazing her cheek.   
  
“More than good,” she agreed. “It’s… _perfect_.”   
  
He grinned rakishly and began rocking inside her. Her body moved with him, highlighting his thrusts, taking him just a little bit deeper each time. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, holding them tighter together as they moved in harmony.   
  
Her lips sought his out almost desperately, kissing him with every bit of passion in her body as he began to move more surely inside her, picking up the pace slowly until the movement of their hips came in time with their rapid breaths.   
  
Their mouths continued to ravage each other. Hands trailed over heated skin, desperate to fully learn the other’s body. Limbs intertwined intimately, pulling them closer together than either had ever believed possible.   
  
Buffy practically whimpered in despair when he began to slow down once more, but there was no way he wasn’t savoring every last moment of this, holding on to it for as long as he could…   
  
“Spike, what are you…?” she began.   
  
Her protest turned quickly into a moan, when he took advantage of their new pace to hone in on the pleasure centers inside of her. He rolled his hips lightly with each push, entering her with a slight swirl of the hips, allowing him to strike right—   
  
“There!” she cried out in bliss.   
  
He did so again, moving in time with her cries of “there!” which quickly turned to “Spike!” The rapid beat of his name began to drive him over the edge as well, and before he knew it, he was thrusting wildly inside her, gasping out “Buffy” raggedly as he let himself become lost in her heat.   
  
He felt her shudder beneath him with a strangled cry moments before her muscles tightened around him, capturing him within a powerful grip and massaging every inch of his length until he came with a roar after her.   
  
Their lips met at that pivotal moment, as if instinctively seeking each other out, and they fell together amidst a passionate kiss. Waves of pleasure overlook them, and then…   
  
Sweet, sweet oblivion.   
  
Spike finally stirred to find Buffy stroking his hair softly. He was still collapsed atop her, his body limp and satiated. “I love you,” he whispered softly, because he couldn’t bring himself not to admit it.   
  
She hushed him. “I know,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to his brow. “I wish…” She sighed. “Maybe, some day…”   
  
He cut her off with a quick kiss. “’S more than enough,” he promised…before grinning. “So, luv, up for another round?”   
  
She gave him a mischievous smile of her own, one that looked downright demonic in its intentions towards him. He noticed belatedly that her lip was cut – apparently, she hadn’t been lying when she said he vamped out when he came – but the smile on her face made it all to clear she didn’t care what he was, so long as he was hers. “Ready to show me what ‘Junior’ can _really_ do?” she teased.   
  
And he did.   


***

  
“Hey, Buffster! Dawnie! Guess who I picked up from the airport?”   
  
“Hey, guys! We’re ba—oof!”   
  
Dawn tackled Tara with an excited hug.   
  
“—Ack,” Tara finished, wincing slightly. “You’re sure you’re not the Slayer?” she teased lightly.   
  
Dawn stuck her tongue out and gave Xander a hug, too. “Very convenient of Anya to have that out-of-town meeting right as Buffy got sick,” she accused suspiciously.   
  
Xander just laughed nervously. “And how is—?”   
  
“Oh!” Willow’s exclamation cut him off, and he turned his attention to the living room. “Er, I’m so sorry,” Willow was apologizing, her face flaming red with embarrassment. “I had no clue you were…er…”   
  
“Buff?” Xander waved as he saw her head pop up from behind the couch back. “How are you fee—” Spike’s head popped up do, leaving absolutely no doubt whatsoever that Buffy had to be sitting in his lap. Either that, or she was decapitated. “—ling.” Ah, the joys of awkward silences.   
  
“Feverish,” Spike answered for her, looking nervously at all the skeptical Scooby faces. “Was just coolin’ her off a bit. Y’know, vamps and…cool,” he finished lamely.   
  
Buffy nodded vigorously. “Very cool. No heat at all.” She seemed to squirm slightly as if something were happening behind the couch that they couldn’t see. “Him cool. Me hot. And…eep! I think I’m having a sudden relapse.”   
  
“Right,” Spike nodded vigorously.   
  
“We’d better go upstairs. So I can cool down some more,” Buffy concluded. “Nice to see you all again!” She gave them a wave, and then practically fled upstairs, Spike in hand.   
  
Several slow, methodic blinks followed before Xander finally shook her head.   
  
“Poor Buffy. She must be really feeling sick.”   
  
“Oh, yeah,” Dawn rolled her eyes. “She’s been ‘sick’ all day. I’m about to barf just by watching them be ‘sick’.”   
  
Xander winced at the thought. “At least it’s slightly disturbing that ‘wishing spell’-sick,” he insisted. “I mean… They _did_ get a room.”   
  
Willow just nodded. “Much better without spell.”   
  
Tara shared a sly smile with Dawn. “You know, Buffy was looking pretty, er…‘sick’ there. Maybe we should so out and give her some peace and quiet.”   
  
“ _Great_ idea,” Xander’s voice practically squeaked at he raced Willow for the door.   
  
“We should get ice cream,” Willow concluded. “Ice cream will make everything well again.”   
  
“Oh yeah,” Xander agreed. “Buffy might be ‘sick’ for a while. I mean, you saw how she was _smiling_ , right?”   
  
Willow nodded seriously. “Not usual Buffy behavior at all. Clearly very, very ‘sick’.”   
  
Tara and Dawn shared an amused smile as they followed Willow and Xander out the door.   
  
“Don’t wait up for us,” Tara called up the stairs.   
  
“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, “take all the time you need getting over that ‘fever’.”   


***

  
Upstairs, Spike frowned. “Think we should tell them that—?” he began.   
  
“Spike,” she assured him, “they all know.”   
  
His frown deepened. “No offense to your mates, but…why amn’t I dust, then?”   
  
She just shrugged. “After what they did to me? They owe me _big time_.” And she pulled him back on top of her. “Spike?” she teased in a faux-whimper. “I’m feeling all _hot_. Make it better?”   
  
“’d love to, pet,” he agreed. It was the last talking they did for the next few hours. After all, defeating those ‘flu bugs’ required their full attention.


End file.
